Page 15 of Cutter

If not…

Slowly, with one ear tuned to Emily’s situation, he returned to the table. Blade sent him a warning glance. His friend had also noticed the brouhaha. Better than anyone sitting at this table, Blade knew his sergeant-at-arms despised abuse or the manhandling of women. Especially if one cute and sassy Emily Mayhew was involved.

Blade moved his fingers in a come-over gesture. Cutter walked over and bent down to listen. “You know what’s at stake,” Blade whispered.

“I’ll do my best.” Straightening, he returned to his seat next to Beast.

“Something the matter?” Diesel arched an eyebrow.

Blade ran his fingers through his hair. “Cutter is a natural-born protector. He can’t tolerate a man roughhousing a woman. He told me he’ll do his best to stay out of it.”

“Oh. What did I miss?” Diesel frowned.

“That.” Blade pointed at the table.

Nails’s friend was trying to put an arm around Emily’s friend. But the girl twisted and pushed him back with both hands.

“They’re not angels,” Diesel sneered. “They’re both attractive and came dressed to get a man’s attention. What are the guys supposed to do?”

“No means no,” Cutter growled. “Those two aren’t getting the message.”

“Tell you what, Mr. Protector.” Narrowing his eyes, Diesel gave him a peculiar look. “Nails is a real pain-in-the-ass bully. If he gets out of hand, you have my blessing to stop him. But let me warn you, he doesn’t take kindly to anyone meddling in his business. Particularly girl business. You’ll be making an enemy for life.”

“Whoa.” Cutter held out his shaking hands. “I’m trembling in my boots.”

“This should be interesting.” Diesel took a swig of his beer and resumed his conversation with Blade.

Beast was talking to him. The big guy seemed nice enough, but Cutter only heard indistinct noise. His attention was riveted on the struggle at Emily’s table. He was getting close to losing his patience when Johnny Gun and Barron walked in.

Throughout the bar, the reaction to their arrival was instantaneous. Every guy stopped in their tracks and glared their way. In a clearly threatening gesture, one dude playing pool slapped his cue stick with a loud clack against the edge of the table.

“That’s enough, guys, calm down. They’re my guests,” Diesel shouted at his men, and everyone went back to their business.

Cutter was grateful for the momentary distraction. Appearing too interested in protecting two strange women the club members saw as cheap hussies would hurt his cold, tough biker image. He’d ruin his chances before he’d begun. Make him unacceptable Chaos material.

Shit.

The minute he got Emily alone, he’d chew her ass out and give her a spanking she’d never forget.

Blade introduced Johnny Gun and Barron to Diesel and his men. That took a couple of minutes and brought him back tohis purpose. Activity in the bar picked up. Will sent two more pitchers with a new assistant. Several members walked in, and soon, laughter and conversation filled the space. Moments later, the opening chords of “Born to Run” blared out of the corner jukebox. Whoops and hollers of appreciation followed.

“Leave her alone!” Emily’s friend shrieked so loudly, her voice overpowered the cacophony of music and conversation.

Cutter glanced at the table. Diesel and Blade stopped talking. A weird silence fell in the room. Emily’s giggles were loud and incoherent. She made large and erratic hand and arm gestures. Leaning back and forth one moment, she flopped against the backrest; the next, she slammed her elbows on the table. Meanwhile, the other girl stabbed at the aggressive Nails, who was attempting to lift a limp Emily out of her chair.

Deep within Cutter, the call to protect surged. He stood with a jump. Barron followed. He glanced at Blade. His friend nodded, and Cutter spoke to Barron. “Are you with me?”

“Always,” Barron replied.

In a few strides, he and Barron reached Emily’s table. Grasping the collar of Nail’s cut, Cutter pulled him from the table. Nails stumbled a few paces. “What the fuck!”

Folding his arms, Barron glared at Nails’s companion. His head lowered, the guy quietly walked away.

Unconcerned with Nails’s angry protest, Cutter spoke to Emily’s friend. “Do you need help, miss?”

The girl gave him a pleading look. “Please. I don’t know how that happened.” She gestured at Emily, sleeping on the table. “I think she’s passed out.”

“Fuck off, asshole. This ain’t your business.” Behind Cutter, Nails seethed, attempting to move past him.

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